


So Say It

by QueSeraAwesome



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst and Humor, Biphobia, Church can be a jerk, Coming Out, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, a little bit of, season 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 01:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2450324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueSeraAwesome/pseuds/QueSeraAwesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Does the screaming start before or after Carolina and Epsilon find out about Tucker and Wash?</p>
<p>Both. Definitely both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the Reds, Blues, Wash and Carolina reunite and teleport away.

After they’ve helped Tucker back to his feet and the screaming has mostly stopped—

Things are still pretty angry.

“Aww, c’mon Tucker, get over it,” Church says. “I came back! We came back!”

“If you come near me, I’m going to punch you again,” Tucker snarls. “I’ll find a way, dude, don’t try me.”

“Aww, Tucker,” Church mocks. “Kiss and make up? Oh wait, can’t. I’m an AI. Just like you can’t punch me, you fucking _dweeb_.”

“Also, that’s Wash’s job,” Caboose says. “You cannot go stealing Wash’s job, Church, especially when it is kissing Tucker!”

The Reds and Church explode into juvenile sniggering.

“I don’t understand,” Caboose whispers. “What did I do.”

“Shut up, Caboose,” Tucker hisses.

Caboose hunches guiltily.

“Yes! A joke! Yes, I made a joke! It was funny! Yes!”

The sniggers start to trail off, leaving an awkward silence in their wake.

“…When did I do that?”

Wash rubs at his temples, helmet dangling from his fingertips.

“Holy shit,” Grif says.

“What?” Sarge demands. “What just happened?”

“Guys?” Church asks.

Both Wash and Tucker avert their gazes.

“Wait….what?”

Tucker and Wash hold a complicated nonverbal discussion consisting mostly of significant looks, hand gestures and subtle tilts of the head.

The group stares.

“Wash?” Carolina asks.

“Yeah…We’re…kind of a …thing now?” Wash says, glancing at Tucker. “Like, an official thing.”

“Since when?!” Church demands.

Wash turns to Tucker helplessly, who rolls his eyes.

“Dude, don’t look at me. I don’t know our fucking anniversary,” Tucker says.

“You don’t know your own anniversary,” Carolina repeats, tone gone a little cold.

“It’s not like there was a specific date,” Wash says. “Or, like, any dates, really. Or even a conversation, it really just kind of happened. And now that I think about it, I’m not really sure how.”

“Gee, thanks, dude.”

“What? Do you know how this happened? ”

“Yeah. You were hot. We fucked. Now we do it on the regular. It’s awesome.”

“Oh, stop,” Wash replies, sarcasm thick in his voice. “I’m blushing.”

“Dude, are you really expecting romance from me by now?”

“Wait, wait, wait, back up, hold on,” Church interjects. “What the fuck, Tucker, you’re not gay.”

“No, I’m not,” Tucker snaps. “Hasn’t anyone on this fucking team ever heard of _being fucking bisexual_?”

“I just assumed—‘

“Well, you know what happens when you assume, Church. You make an ass out of you and you.”

“That’s not how that—Come on, Tucker can you blame me?” Church whines. “You talk about women all the time.”

“Of course I did, there were never any women around to fuck!” Tucker shoots back. “I thought we’d been over this! Like, a hundred times!”

“I know, but—“

“Besides,” Tucker continues, “Who in that canyon was honestly fuckable, Church? You’re an asshole robot, Tex was a robot shark, Caboose is an idiot, Grif’s too lazy to get it up, Simmons is probably afraid of his own dick, and Sarge’d probably kill me in the afterglow, and that’s assuming that I’d ever even actually want to fuck any of you jerks, which by the way? I really, really _don’t._ ”

“You forgot Donut,” Simmons interjects.

“No, he didn’t,” Donut whispers.

“Really?” Doc asks.

“I have a story to tell you later. It happened one time.”

“You never told me that,” Wash remarks. Carolina and Church exchange a look at the utter lack of accusation in his voice.

Tucker shrugs.

“It happened one time. And no offense, dude,” he says, turning to Donut, “You were great and all, but you’re not really my type.”

“That’s okay,” Donut replies cheerily from next to Doc, “You’re not really mine either.”

“Are you sure about this, Wash?” Carolina asks.

“Don’t sound so happy for us,” Wash deadpans. “Honestly, it’s embarrassing.”

“We are. Happy. For you,” Carolina says. “We’re just…surprised.”

“Fuck yeah, I’m surprised,” Church says. “I mean, really Wash? Tucker? C’mon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wash demands, tone gone cold. Tucker drops his face into his palms.

“Dude, let it go,” he says.

“No, I want to hear this,” Wash says. “Go ahead, Church. Explain. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, he’s kind of a…He’s…You’re…” Church sputters. “I mean, have you met the guy?”

“What?” Wash sputters. “What are you— wait, are you saying _I_ shouldn’t be the one interested in _him_?”

“Yeah? What else would I be saying? He’s kind of a tool, Wash. And, you’re, I mean. You’re a little uptight. What could you two possibly have in common?”

“And what on earth makes you think I’d want your advice when it comes to relationships with other people?”

Carolina sighs.

“Don’t fucking start, Wash, you’re not exactly Mr. Great Personal Decisions—“

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you—“

“Coming from _me_ —“

“So what you’re trying to tell me is—“

Tucker flinches at the pitch, takes a few steps away from where Wash and Church are getting up in each other’s faces, withdraws to where everyone else is retreating from the din.

“Shit. Thanks, Caboose, look what you did,” Tucker says. “You set them off. In five minutes we’re going to have every dog on this planet flooding in here.”

“Dogs? I love dogs. Do you think Freckles will come back?”

“Sure, buddy. Does anybody have any earplugs?”

Tucker turns, sees Carolina looking at him, some strange mix of bemusement and humor in the tilt of her helmet.

“What are you looking at?” Tucker demands. Carolina snorts.

“Wash’s boyfriend, apparently,” she says, humor lacing through her voice.

Tucker makes an inarticulate noise of agreement, crosses his arms as he watches Wash and Church continue to yell at each other.

“Listen,” Carolina interjects, a hint of steel weaving into the teasing tone of her voice. “I know it’s not really my place to say. But in the most technical sense of the word, I’m still his Boss, his leader. And he does not need anyone else messing with his head. Or his trust."

Bottom line?" she says "You hurt him, I’ll find you.”

Tucker stares at her.

“What? I’m here right _now_ , bitch. I’m not going anywhere. Where you been? You’re the one who fucked off and left him alone. _Twice_. I’m the one that went after him, so don’t fuckin’ start with me about how to treat Wash.”

After a long moment, Tucker becomes aware that the shrill shouting has stopped. He looks over at Church and Wash. They’re staring at him. Everyone’s staring at him. Carolina is staring at him. He glares back. If he’s in for it, might as well go down swinging.

Carolina is eerily still. It’s like no one dares to breathe.

“Carolina,” Wash says, stepping forward, grabbing Tucker’s shoulder like he’s thinking about putting himself between them. Tucker plants his feet, refuses to be moved. Fuck that. _Fuck that._

“No,” Carolina says, holding out a hand. “No, Wash.”

Her helmet tilts down, that little bend he’s seen her do before a battle starts, Tucker swears he hears Sarge make a noise like “Ruh-roh,” very quietly.

Carolina’s looks back up, the glare off her visor blinding him momentarily and Tucker tenses.

“It’s okay,” she says. “…He’s right.”

Tucker’s close, Wash’s helmet right over his shoulder, so he hears the rush of breath.

“…What?”

“He’s right,” Carolina repeats, turning to Wash. “I never went after you.”

Wash’s fingers loosen around Tucker’s shoulder, but don’t let go. Tucker doesn’t look up at Wash, doesn’t want to think about what his face must be doing right now. He’s seen enough of that shocked, vulnerable expression he makes when people surprise him.

“Carolina—“ Wash starts.

“I never went after you,” Carolina repeats. “I could have, but I didn’t.”

Wash falls silent.

Sarge’s inner emotion-tolerance meter must reach critical tolerance, because he whispers (at volume) “Red Team, roll out,” and begins leading them away.

“We’re just gonna…” Simmons says, in the same voice of trying to speak without actually being heard, “go over here. For a while.”

“Far away from this shit,” Grif adds.

“…Why don’t you go with them, Caboose?” Tucker says, glancing between Wash and Carolina.

“Yeah…” Caboose says. “I’ll just…yeah…”

Tucker can barely breathe for the entire time they take to walk out of earshot. Can barely breathe when they’re gone and still none of them say anything, gridlocked, and him caught in the crossfire of things traveling between them. He’s not sure what to call this emotion, to call this pressure curdling in his gut, so he does what he always does, and pretends it’s anger.

And every second she doesn’t say anything, it gets worse.

“I’m going to go establish a perimeter,” Carolina says, breaking the silence. “I’ll—I’ll be back. I’ll let you two…catch up.”

She must use her speed mod, because between one breath and the next she’s gone, jogging away. As soon as she’s out of earshot Tucker sees a little ball of blue bobbing over her shoulder.

“I’ve got to go talk to her,” Wash says, turning into him. “I’ve got to.”

“Yeah,” Tucker says, averting his gaze. “Yeah. Go fix my fuck-up. Again.”

“We’re not keeping score,” Wash says, stepping closer to him. “Any of us. Besides, we’d probably be out of numbers by now.”

Tucker snorts, sways forward into Wash’s space. Wash’s hand curls around his elbow, an offer. Tucker gratefully leans his forehead against Wash’s shoulder.

“….Not how I thought that was going to go,” he says.

“What?” Wash asks.

“Getting you back. Seeing Church again. Spilling the beans. Take your pick, man. That was a shitshow.”

Wash curls arms around him in a loose hold, and Tucker sighs against his collarbone.

“I don’t expect anything else, anymore,” he admits, an undercurrent of mirth in his voice. Tucker shoves at him softly and they sway with the movement, rocking forward and backward on their heels.

For a moment, they just stand. Just breathe. Just stay, the farthest distance between them at any point mere inches.

But there’s only so much silence Tucker can take right now, and even this comfortable silence begins to make his skin crawl.

“So, they know,” Tucker says.

“Yeah.”

“Pissed?”

Wash shrugs, Tucker’s head rising and falling with the motion.

“Was gonna happen sometime,” he says.

The moment’s broken. Wash sighs, the same sigh he made as leader of Blue Team, and Tucker’s pulling back even before he speaks.

“Tucker, I have to—“

“Yeah,” Tucker says. “I know. Just— C’mere.”

It’s a chaste kiss, their first in weeks. It isn’t the kind of kiss Tucker was planning on, hoping for. Just them, pressed together at knee, at hips, at shoulders and lips. Just Wash’s body, still against his, except for the push of his jaw. The firm press of their mouths against each other, more a confirmation of I’m here, than anything remotely sexual, anything with intent.

They pull apart, Wash’s hands lingering on him as he pulls away. It tells him all Tucker needs to know right now. He’s coming back.

Wash walks after Carolina. Tucker kicks at the ground, watches him go.


	2. Chapter 2

Wash finds her sitting on a rock, helmet off and lying between her feet. Her back is to him, but he knows she heard him coming. Epsilon meets his eyes over her shoulder, logs off without a word, let alone the snarky comment Wash was expecting. Wash can almost let himself feel grateful for that.

His fingers tighten over the lip of his helmet. He thinks about putting it on again. He tries to remember the last time the two of them looked at each other, bare face to bare face.

Before he can remember, she speaks.

“I wasn’t thinking about you,” Carolina says. “I was thinking about me.”

She doesn’t have to say when. Doesn’t have to explain what she’s talking about.

She stares off into the middle distance as he comes around to her side of the rock, doesn’t meet his eyes. But she doesn’t flinch under his gaze, either, barely gives any sign of acknowledgement when he seats himself on the rock next to her, careful inches between them. He drops his helmet at his feet and it rolls, his and Carolina’s knocking together.

“I was thinking about me,” Carolina continues. “And the war. And the Director.”

Her spine slumps, eye falling closed. Wash watches her out of his periphery. His hands feel heavy, unsure, so he clasps them together over his knees, holds on tighter than he’d like to admit.

“I didn’t want to think about Tex,” she says. “Or about York. So… I just… didn’t go back. I wasn’t thinking about you at all.”

She laughs, a sudden, twisted sound that Wash would love to pretend doesn’t sound familiar. Quick as it came, the laughter burns up; Wash can taste it like ash lingering in his throat.

“I guess I really am just like him.”

“No, you’re not.”

It’s amazing how easy the words feel. She looks up at him out from under scraggly bangs, eyes intent.

“You’re not like him.”

Poison-green eyes scrutinize him, familiar for more reasons than one. Wash doesn’t flinch under them, and it’s the careful work of years. There’s too many memories tied up in that particular shade of green, and not all of them are even his.

“You did what you had to,” he says. “You got away.”

“But you—“

“If you’re gonna be sorry for anything, be sorry for when you came back. For not clueing me in to what you were doing, and for not telling me you were leaving,” Wash snaps. “Don’t apologize for getting out after the Director fucked you over. For getting away from him.”

She looks away, then, mouth set in a stubborn line. But from the knit in her brow, she heard what he said, heard it in the kind of way that will stick around.

“The Project messed us all up,” he continues. “You. Me. Maine. The twins. Even York.”

He can’t help the honest laugh that escapes him. York was always good for a laugh.

“Did you know he was actually squatting in abandoned buildings at one point?” he says. “Like a hobo or something. A hobo in military armor. I mean, what was he thinking? It’s not like he was utterly without skills. I get he was grieving but—”

This time it’s Wash that let’s that fucked up little chuckle escape.

“He was always kind of melodramatic, too. ”

Carolina stares at him in shock.

“You knew where he was,” she says.

“Of course,” Wash says. “South and North too. Once I was made a Recovery Agent, I had to know where they were if I was going to avoid them. If I ran into them, I’d of had to bring them in. Or, would have had to move against the Project before I was ready.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t risk it. I had to stay away. I couldn’t risk trusting the wrong person.”

“I was angry with them,” Wash says. “York and North. For a long time. Couldn’t understand how they could just…leave me there. I mean, North was there when I woke up, the first time, he was right there and then—“

Carolina’s shoulder knocks against his, just a brush really. Wash shakes his head, takes a deep breath and continues.

“Maybe I’m still angry with them,” Wash says. “Maybe I still don’t understand why they did what they did. I never got the chance to ask them.”

“I could have brought you with me,” Carolina says, and it sounds like a confession.

Wash shakes his head.

“No, you couldn’t have,” he says. “You didn’t see me after Epsilon, after the crash. I got worse.”

She’s looks at him again, waiting, and Wash sighs past the sudden heaviness in his lungs. He feels like squirming under her gaze, like back when he’d nearly fucked up a mission with some little mistake. It reminds him of standing across from Caboose, with nothing but apologies in his hands.

He picks his helmet up from the ground, but doesn’t put it on. The planes of it, its lines and scratches are familiar, something tangible to hold on to as he tries to find the right words. The right words to make her understand without digging too deep underneath the structure of hard-fought recovery he’s built. That he’s still building. He flips the helmet in his hands, turning it until the visor’s pointing up. He can see his face reflected in that gold stare.

“I cracked,” he says. “I wasn’t in any shape to fight a war, Carolina. Even if you had come for me, I don’t know what you would have done.”

Carolina exhales, quietly, but Wash doggedly keeps going.

“I wouldn’t have been able to help you,” he says. “And the way I was? The way you were? In the middle of a war? I don’t really know if you could have helped me.”

“At least you wouldn’t have been alone,” she says.

He rolls his helmet under him palms again, back and forth. Ducks his head and slips it back on.

“Yeah,” Wash says, as the HUD lights up before his eyes. “At least you wouldn’t have been alone.”

Her lips twitch, just the smallest bit.

“Save the mushy stuff for your boyfriend, Agent Washington,” she says, bumping him with her shoulder.

She gets to her feet, bending to shove her helmet back over her head.

“We should get back to the others,” She says. “If they haven’t found a way to kill themselves or each other by now.”

“At least they don’t have a tank anymore,” Wash says, standing. “And don’t say ‘boyfriend.’ It makes me feel old.”

“Really, though, how did that happen?” Carolina asks.

Wash snorts and falls into step next to her.

“That,” he says, is a really, really, _really_ long story.”

**Author's Note:**

> QueSeraAwesome.tumblr.com


End file.
